


The Last Sunrise

by starforged



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Drabble Collection, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5305817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/pseuds/starforged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ravka is in danger of being consumed by war, and finding out she's a long lost princess puts Alina Starkov in the precarious position of being able to unite her country before they are invaded. But will her decisions bring revolution or peace to a scared people?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t even a month ago that Alina had found out that she was the long lost heir to the Solnechy family, long since thought dead after the revolution. And her head is still spinning from it all. She doesn’t know how to feel about it. She’d been an orphan all her life, only Mal to call family, and here she was. Still an orphan. Still without family.

Still more interested in learning at her patron’s side than nobility and money and whatever legacy her family had created.

“Sit up straighter, girl,” Baghra snaps from nowhere.

Alina doesn’t hesitate to straighten her spine on instinct rather than because she wants to listen. It takes her a moment or two before she slumps the tiniest of bits.

“Are you going to tell me why two maids came into my room this morning and made me over like some sort of doll?” Alina tugs at the curls in her hair with her lip curled in distaste. It doesn’t suit her, she thinks. She’s not a pretty thing, not something to sit around to look good.

And if that’s what being a noble is about, she’ll happily give it up right now.

Even if the pins _are_ really pretty, and the dress is soft, even if it’s extravagant. Deep blue with threads of gold on the sleeves and bodice, she looks the part of a princess, that’s for sure. Her shiny lips purse as she glares at Baghra, who looks fairly annoyed in return.

“I’m having a guest today,” the old woman explains in a clipped voice.

Alina’s head tilts. “You don’t have guests.”

“I do today.”

Alina has known Baghra and her son, Aleksander, for only five short months, but it is enough time to know they like their privacy. They don’t have guests, unless they’re for business, and even then, Alina has never been invited to those meetings. It’s led her to believe that whatever business the Morozovas are conducting at home and behind closed doors is something underground.

She bites her lip for a second, brow furrowed in confusion.

“What does this have to do with me?”

It’s taken her until just now to realize that it must to do with her if she’s here, if she’s up for display. It’s not as though she has any real talent to speak of, unless they’re looking for maps. Alina can make maps.

Sort of.

Well, not really, but she isn’t entirely useless.

But no, of course it’s not that. It’s her family, the blood that’s running through her veins. The last heir to the Solnechy family, Daughter of the Sun. Feared, respected, adored, they had begun to tear Ravka apart nearly a hundred years ago with their policies. In their place, the Lantsovs had risen to power - some believing they had been behind the revolution that Ravka was still recovering from. Her country was one of war, internal and external.

Baghra watched her with shrewd eyes, and for a moment, Alina could see the beauty she must have been once upon a time. Time had take hold of her. Stress. War. Who knew what else. Inside of this crotchety old woman was a fount of knowledge.

“Ravka is not at rest, Alina,” she murmured, her voice so low, that Alina had to lean forward to hear.

Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked up to Alina, tugging her out of the chair. She stumbled to her feet, marveling at the strength in those bony old fingers.

“It would have been better if you had been born a nobody,” Baghra continued. Even though Alina found herself agreeing with those words, they hurt still.

She is nobody and nothing. It’s not like she wants anything to do with her supposed family name. “Are you having me killed?”

There’s a moment of silence before the old woman actually throws her head back and cackles. It vibrates in Alina’s bones, makes her heart race in actual fear. “No, you idiot girl.” Her hand drops. “I’m marrying you off.”

“I’d rather you’d just kill me.” It’s the first thing that Alina can think of, before the horror and rage of Baghra’s words sweep over her. Marry her _off?_ Like she’s a thing that can be given away. And isn’t she her own person? How is it that Baghra can even do this?

But then, of course, the Morozova family is sponsoring her. No, it’s more like they own her now, isn’t it?

“You can’t - Why would you - _I don’t want this._ ”

With a growl, Alina stomps away from her, running her fingers through her perfect hair until she hears those beautiful pins falling off and plinking onto the floor. She disrupts the curls, frizzing the dark strands out. She will not be a prop to be used in another revolution, or whatever it is Baghra thinks that Alina can be sold off for.

“I’m not property! Or a prize!”

“Honestly, I said the same thing,” another voice drifts into the room, “but Miss Morozova is quite insistent.”

Alina turns around to look at the owner of the voice, her anger spilling over like the heat of the sun. Nikolai Lantsov, the younger son of the family that had killed her own. The playboy, the soldier. The detestable, really, with his charming grin and easy words and a mirth in his hazel eyes as he keeps his gaze on Alina even as he plants a kiss on the back of Baghra’s hand.

“To _him_ ,” Alina yells before dissolving into a near-hysterical laugh.

This is too good, too terrible. Of course, why not marry her off to the one person who would really want her dead.

“Why not? Think of the story,” Nikolai says to her with a carefree grin. “Mortal enemies bound in marriage. It’ll be quite the headline. And a marriage to the future king of Ravka, well, it’s just as beneficial to you.”

“No.”

“I can’t let you back out of this,” Baghra says in a low voice.

“You can’t back me into it, either.”

Nikolai shrugs, spreading his hands. “Arranged marriages happen quite frequently, actually, and in lieu of an actual parent–”

“Which I am sure your family probably had something to do with,” Alina accuses.

He doesn’t lose that impish grin, talking right over her. “Baghra has consented to this union. It’ll be good. I’m told I’m quite the gentleman.”

“You should really question the opinions of whatever women you’ve been with,” Alina snaps before glaring at Baghra. “Aleksander–”

“Has no say in this,” Baghra said. She waved her hand, as if the matter was nothing to discuss, but Alina knows there’s something wrong there. “You will marry Nikolai Lantsov, if you know what’s good for you.”

She grits her teeth and stares at him. “Aren’t you the second son? How will you be king?”

The grin now is more like a predator, like a fox at night eyeing up a chicken coop. “By marrying a Solnechy.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I have a surprise for our first public outing,” Nikolai tells her, eyes bright with mischief.

Alina’s lip curls in distaste. Public outing. It’s been a week since she’s been told that her hand in marriage has been given over to this spoiled prince who wishes to use her to become king. A week, but they have not yet announced it. 

_Give it time, girl_ , Baghra had said to her. _Nobody must know immediately, or it will all fall apart._

Alina’s not made for these political games, and not being able to tell anyone has made her even more irritated than usual. 

“I’d rather not,” she mutters, pulling her parchment closer to her as she retraces a line on one of her old maps. 

But her betrothed is hard to shake off, as she’s quickly beginning to learn. He leans forward, all straight lines as he leans onto the table, his shadow obscuring her work. In some ways, he reminds her of the way that Aleksander can insert himself into her, but this is different. More annoying, for one. Less put together than him, like a carefully put together mess. 

Alina purses her lips, gaze flickering up to him. His smile makes her scowl, which only makes him smile even more.

She doesn’t like the fact his smile - his amusement - is ridiculously attractive. 

“You aren’t even the least bit curious?”

He smells like grass and smoke and grease. Why a man like him has any reason to smell like grease… She can already feel it, that stirring of curiosity that she isn’t sure if she wants to care about. Not for his stupid surprise outing, for whatever political stunt he has planned, but for the parts of him that aren’t out in the open.

She catches his hazel eyes, but his facade never once drops. Maybe it’s not a facade, she tells herself. Maybe this is all he is.

“You won’t leave me alone until you tell me,” Alina says by way of giving him permission.

So the Prince of Ravka straightens briefly before taking a seat on the edge of her table, wrinkling the corner of her map without care. She does her best to not grind her teeth together. “The circus.”

She’s never been to the circus.

Orphans, as it turns out, generally should be lucky enough to have clothes to wear and food to eat and a warm fire to sit next to on frozen winter nights in Ravka. Circuses? They are for people far more privileged. Not that it has never stopped Mal from talking about it, but for Alina herself? She’s let go of that particular dream. 

“No.”

“Everyone loves the circus, Alina. What better way for the public to see us together, a Lantsov cavorting with a Solnechy.” There are stars in his eyes as he says it. She is suffocating in his excitement. “Plus, there are dancing bears. Who doesn’t want to see those?”

It’s impractical to want something so silly, anyway. _Dancing bears_ , as if those were better than a good stew.

Somewhere, Alina knows that Baghra is lingering, waiting to pounce the moment that she leaves the room with a thick hand to the back of her head. She has no choice, she already realizes this. For whatever reason, Alina must marry Nikolai. Does she care about Ravka that much? Is she willing to give up love for a lifetime with this man and his dancing bears and madly irritating smile?

Maybe.

“I barely have found out that I have this power at my fingertips, and already everyone is seeking to collar me,” she murmurs, almost under her breath.

But he still hears her. His hand reaches out, fingers barely brushing her chin before he thinks differently of it - possibly because of the murderous glare she turns on him and the baring of her teeth. He gives her a more real smile, something slightly self-deprecating.

“Try being the second son rumored to be a bastard, honestly,” he tells her with that same amusement in his tone. It’s as though nothing bothers this man. “It’s just the circus, Alina. You might have fun. I know, smiling could possibly crack you open, but that is a risk I am willing to take.” He presses that hand to his chest, briefly closing his eyes. When he opens them again, his stare has her pinned down. “Are you?”

Two words, and they sound as though they have nothing at all to do with going to the circus.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out until she gives him a disgusted sigh. “I want private seats.”

The grin he gives her is equal parts showmanship and genuine. “As you wish.”  



	3. Chapter 3

“Why do you want to marry me?”

Nikolai looks up at her after Alina asks the question. When Baghra first announced it to her, Nikolai had said that he could be king marrying her, but was that all this was? Was it just a bid to beat his older brother and become King of Ravka? Is that all it took, marrying a Solnechy princess? 

She watches him in return, noticing that serious light in his eyes as he regarded. 

Alina isn’t unaware of the state of the people, of the anger they feel at the Lantsov dynasty now. It’s only been one hundred years since the revolution that ended the Solnechy reign. She wondered if that was what had orphaned her. Did the king find out her father was a Solnechy? It could have been coincidence. Ravka has been raging war for so long, that her family really could have just been caught in the crossfire.

“My father is not a horrible king,” Nikolai begins. “I know, you are thinking that of course I would say such a thing. He is my father.”

Supposedly, in any case. 

“Your father is brutal,” Alina counters. Her hands fidget in her lap as she glances from Nikolai to the snow laden trees behind him. Winter is a beautiful time in Ravka, if you weren’t freezing to death somewhere. She thinks about Mal, beautiful Mal in his beautiful uniform, and wonders what he’ll think about her engagement. About who she is. She hasn’t found it in herself to write these words out when it’s something that should be said face to face. “I don’t have a lot of good things to say about him, all things considered.”

That, and if the letter fell in the wrong hands…

Nikolai’s hand rests gently on her elbow as he leads her down another path through the park.

“He is. His army is brutal, and we have more than one enemy,” Nikolai murmurs. He flashes that grin of his though. “My brother is not what I would call intelligent. He is brutal without the strategy, and he cares only for horses besides that.”

“So it is about becoming king?”

“It’s about saving Ravka, Alina. The people have made your family and your story into a myth. You are not going to be just a princess to them, you are a saint. Ravka needs a united front.”

She wants to tell him that she really just doesn’t care, but she does. Even before finding out who she was, she cared. And now, didn’t she have some obligation? To lead another revolution? To save Ravka, for her family? 

“Part of Ravka revolted with your family,” Alina points out instead. 

“I didn’t say I was going to put my family out to put you on the throne. That would weaken Ravka even further. The Shu are on our doorstep, you know, banging at the borders.”

Thinking of Nikolai as patriotic enough to sacrifice himself to marry her is a strange thought entirely. He could have the pick of any woman in Ravka. He could even marry himself off to a Shu girl for an alliance. But his best idea is to marry a Solnechy princess to unite Ravka. It’s probably one of the best strategies that she’s ever heard of, if she is going to be honest. 

Not that she is going to tell him that. His ego is big enough.

Alina’s quiet as they continue their walk. Talk has already begun to flit around Os Alta, about the nothing girl Prince Nikolai has been seen with. At the circus, a private dinner. It has to look like romance instead of a political arrangement. It has to look like they are in love before their whirlwind romance ends in their engagement and before Nikolai reveals her to Ravka. 

It makes her think about why Baghra did this quietly, about why she told Nikolai about who Alina is. It was Aleksander who brought her the truth, who had dug and dug and painted her a picture of a world where she could restore balance. Those words, though, she keeps locked up tight. But still, in this moment, she realizes that Aleksander found her because he wanted to make her a queen too. 

If Baghra doesn’t even back her own son, what does that mean?

“You’re going to be putting my life in danger,” Alina points out to him. Her fingers curl into his coat where they rest in the crook of his elbow now. The air is crisp as she breathes the words out, the cold settling in her nose, in her lungs. 

“Yes. And mine.” That grin again, but this time, it flips her stomach and makes her feel warm. There’s a sort of excitement to his look, a pride, an adventure. “My family is not going to be pleased.”

“A lot of people aren’t going to be.”

“I never took you for someone who cared what other people thought of you, Alina Starkov.” His shoulder bumps against hers.

She flashes a smile even as she rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine.” For Ravka. For her family. For herself. “I will marry you, Nikolai Lantsov.” Her gaze lands on his face. Their connection is intense for that moment, overwhelming. It threatens to drown her, but she doesn’t let go. “I will make you king.”


End file.
